


frequently asked questions

by jrangel



Series: ask me anything [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Dates, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 08:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9428930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jrangel/pseuds/jrangel
Summary: There’s something between them. Something that requires exploring.- - -Takes place directly following the events ofask me my name, my permission, my forgiveness.





	

“I like you too.”

His confession lingers between them and the words can’t be unspoken now that they’re out, because it’s done and Hamilton _knows_ , knows that whatever this thing that has been growing steadily between them, ensnaring them like a vine, is reciprocated.

And it’s okay. It’s good even.

So, the question is, what comes next?

For now, there’s a surreal sort of calm settling over him, and it’s like they’re trapped in amber and time flows like syrup and the seconds stretch and stretch and _stretch_ until Thomas worries that the pocket of time they’ve comfortably burrowed themselves into might snap. He’s warm here, barely coherent and propped up against the wall, he’s bathed in the sunlight that has angled in through the window on the far end of the room and Hamilton is still draped along his shoulder, cuddled into his side. 

He’s happy to the point of delirium, but there’s no guarantee that this ridiculous curl of heat that has bloomed in his chest will survive past the hour, so he huffs in another lungful, naively hopeful, and tries to commit to memory the omega’s sweet scent and the feel of his breath on his collar. 

It’s strangely intimate and Thomas is reminded that for all the time they’ve spent in each other’s company the past couple of months, they don’t really _know_ each other yet and that’s just slightly a problem. There are feelings sure, but feelings aren’t reason enough for him to place self-preservation on hold no matter how lovely they are, and if this doesn’t play out how he hopes, Thomas can’t afford to crumble under the disappointment later when he’s left alone again.

So, baby steps.

Thomas takes the omega’s hand in his and inwardly preens when Hamilton let’s their fingers lace together. He marvels at how small the omega’s palm looks engulfed in his own, notices a slight callus near the top of Hamilton’s middle finger and glides his thumb along it absentmindedly. Beside him Hamilton makes a rumbling sound deep in his throat, pleased, and Thomas can feel the omega melt impossibly further into his side. 

His heart clenches almost painfully. “Let me cook you breakfast,” he says.

Instinct is wreaking havoc with his senses and it takes extraordinary effort to separate the part of him that is trained to know better with the part of him that yearns to tie the omega down, keep him tucked away, or have him pressed into the sheets to stay. The side of his alpha that he locks away peeks around the bars of his cage now and wants to slip pieces of croissants passed those sinfully pink lips, keep Hamilton fed and glowing, wants to catalogue every happy sound, every smile, and look.

He’s distracted by the slight hitch in Hamilton’s breathing, feels Hamilton’s lips part just slightly where they’ve come to rest against his shoulder and it takes Thomas a moment to register that he’s speaking.

“Okay.”

Okay.

 

***

 

Hamilton wears an expression that is one part exasperated and two parts mortified as he watches Thomas digging through the meager contents of his cupboard, the alpha kneeling on the kitchen floor as he searches around the bottom shelves for… well, for anything that he can use.

“It’s not like I’ve had a ton of time to cook lately.” The omega grumbles and there’s a certain kind of defensiveness in his posture, in the square of his shoulders, and the set of his jaw that tickles at the back of the alpha’s brain. 

But rut has left Thomas drained in more ways than one and he shrugs off the empty kitchen and the wall of indifference that Hamilton is clearly in the process of constructing and asks where the nearest shop is. Coats are thrown on and they wind up at a tiny little hole-in-the-wall of a bodega around the corner, which shouldn’t have as good of a produce section as it does, but lucky for them it’s remarkably varied.

They still argue over what to get because apparently Hamilton’s palate is aggressively bland and unadventurous while Thomas spends way too long thoughtfully marveling at a display of white and purple eggplants at the back, at the Belgian endive and French artichokes. A package of frozen hash browns is thrown rudely into Thomas’s basket and when Thomas notices what it is he chucks the bag right back at Hamilton where it bounces off his chest and lands on the floor. He’s preoccupied bagging some okra a few minutes later when Thomas feels something small and wet hit the side of his face. He wipes fitfully at his cheek and looks over to see Hamilton wearing a shit eating grin and popping grapes from a sampler tray into his mouth.

Thomas calls Hamilton an idiot because he is an idiot, but also because it’s almost become a term of endearment between them, and when the omega giggles in response, pink floods his cheeks and his eyes seem to twinkle.

Thomas has always adored the color pink.

 

***

 

For all that he mocks Hamilton for his single-mindedness at the office, Thomas knows that in the kitchen he’s just as bad.

It’s too easy to get lost in his head sometimes, but he’s grounded by the feeling of Hamilton’s eyes on him as he flits around the small space and when he looks up he sees Hamilton watching him with a mildly interested look, his elbows dug into the tabletop where he waits and his chin resting in the cradle of his palms.

“You look very comfortable in the kitchen,” the omega says lightly.

Hamilton eyes the pot where Thomas knows that diced onions are just turning translucent and then his gaze trails back to where the alpha is peeling potatoes with practiced flicks of his wrist, collecting the peels in a heap. 

“Who taught you?”

Thomas is shaving off skins in double time now, but he manages to spare the omega a sliver of his attention. “My Momma showed me my way around.” 

His focus falters. “Where’s your cheese grater at?”

Hamilton gestures at a cabinet behind him and it only takes a moment before Thomas unearths the grater with a sigh of relief. 

“Did you like it?” Hamilton asks, redirecting him back to the conversation.

“What, cooking?” He asks, breaking down the first spud with quick strokes. “I had to entertain myself somehow.”

“And your mother was up for that? Entertaining a young boy?” Hamilton inquires, and then adds, like an afterthought, “Um… do you want some help?”

Thomas hums thoughtfully. “My Momma relished the opportunity.”

He grabs another potato. “Could you fill a bowl with cold water for me please?”

Hamilton slips out of his seat and dutifully does as he’s asked, setting the bowl in front of Thomas with a curious look. “What do I do with it?”

The alpha tosses the shreds in. “Stir it a bit until it gets cloudy, we need to rinse off all of that excess starch. You do that and I’ll get started on the braising sauce for the okra.” 

He abandons the omega with the potatoes and focuses his attention back on the cutting board where he gives a large handful of plum tomatoes a rough chop before adding them to the pot where the onions have caramelized, and throws in some minced garlic and a healthy pinch of salt while he’s at it.

“Do I drain the water?” Hamilton asks.

“Go for it.” Thomas grabs a paper towel roll and hands it to Hamilton. “Pat them dry with these afterward, they’ll crisp up better if they’re dry going into the pan.” 

The okra is washed but the stems still need trimming, so while Hamilton stuffs wads of napkins into the bowl Thomas finishes the prep work. He gets lost in his head again, the sound of the okra splitting under the weight of the blade oddly meditative, and it takes the omega a few attempts to grab his attention.

“I was asking about your mother,” Hamilton repeats, looking a little amused. “What was she like?”

He blinks and considers his words for a moment. “She was fierce… Determined.” 

Memories flood his thoughts and a touch of Southern twang laces through his voice without his permission.

“She had a bit of a green thumb, my Momma, and she was always recruiting my services, you know? Prodding me into helping. She had a personal garden at the back of the estate that she treated with the same devotion a mother would a much beloved child— sometimes wondered if I was meant to feel jealous of the damn thing.”

He peers into the pot and likes what he sees, so he pours a tad more oil into the sauce before adding the okra. 

“We ate everything we grew, and my Momma saw no reason why I shouldn’t be just as capable around a knife or a stovetop as around the garden. Didn’t want her son being one note.”

He grabs a wooden spoon and stirs the okra some before turning the heat down and covering the pot. 

“Is there a skillet for the potatoes?” He asks and Hamilton nods quickly, opening a drawer beside the stove and placing one on the burner.

Thomas adds a knob of butter over the side and watches it melt before he’s tossing the shredded potatoes in by the handful. He shakes the skillet around a few times to coat them and then leaves them be. 

“Just watch them, make sure they don’t burn.” Thomas instructs, handing Hamilton the spatula. “You can check the bottom every once in awhile but don’t flip them until they’ve turned golden brown.”

Hamilton’s eyes widen as though he’s surprised to have been entrusted with such an arduous task and he shuffles over to linger anxiously in front of the stove, spatula gripped awkwardly in his hand.

“So you two were close.” Hamilton says after a stretch of prolonged silence, cautiously teasing at the edge of the hash brown with the spatula’s edge.

Thomas hums an affirmative and selects a few eggs from the carton. He grabs another frying pan from the drawer and places it on an unoccupied burner. Turning up the heat, the alpha cracks one inside.

“I always felt like she had a lot of misplaced guilt about my situation,” he admits once his hands are free and all that’s left to do is wait for the egg to fry. “And her answer to that guilt was to overcorrect in other areas. It was like she could be doting to the point of overbearing at times.”

There’s a sober sort of ache in his heart as he’s reminded of a woman who hovered and tittered. Who worried and prodded and looked at him like he was a moment away from fragmenting into pieces.

He can hear his mother’s voice in his ears, hear the pain and devastation in her voice when he comes home with bruises lining his jaw and trailing down his throat. He can remember angrily slapping her hand away when she reached for him, tears in her eyes and grief bowing her slender shoulders when he yelled at her to stop trying to make things better because there wasn’t _better_ , there was just _this_ , and there was nothing to be done.

He had felt so helpless back then, so out of control, and he hadn’t considered until much later that she must have felt exactly the same.

There’s the sound of oil crackling in the pan and suddenly Thomas is flung back into the present and disoriented, he flounders on what he’s meant to do next, so he just stands there in the middle of the kitchen directionless for a long uncomfortable beat.

“Is this brown enough?” Thomas hears the omega ask after a moment.

He glances over at Hamilton, worried and embarrassed by the lapse, but Hamilton doesn’t look pitying or off put, just curious. 

The omega always seems so curious. 

He’s lifting the hash browns up by the edge and his eyebrow is quirked inquiringly at Thomas, looking for a second opinion.

“Perfect,” Thomas praises softly before turning back to his own pan.

The egg is still slightly runny but it’s cooked through, so Thomas flips it over carefully and adds another egg in beside it. The okra is probably tender enough by now and so Thomas turns off the back burner and removes himself to retrieve some plates. He has Hamilton move over with a soft word and a slight bump of his hip and, and using the spatula the omega relinquishes, Thomas divides up the potatoes and okra before placing a fried egg over the top of each plate.

Hamilton is somewhere behind him and Thomas can hear the clattering of silverware shifting around and paper towels tearing from the roll. He meets the omega at the table and sets their plates down trying not to shy away from the considering gaze that is leveled at him, and slots himself into an empty chair.

Hamilton settles beside him and only tears his eyes away from Thomas when the smells from his plate capture his attentions more so than whatever mystery the omega imagines in the lines of his face.

“It’s delicious.” Hamilton chirps happily around his first bite and soon the sound of cutlery on ceramic fills the kitchen.

Indulging in the sight for the time being, Thomas is slow to delve into his own plate, but takes languid bites as he watches the other sigh and moan his approval. It’s enough to nourish his alpha brain and that part of him retreats back, curls inward and settles.

Their chairs are pushed too close and their elbows bump every time one of them shifts even slightly, but neither of them minds.

It’s comfortable.

 

***

 

If Thomas were one to sugarcoat things, even if only to the benefit of himself, he would describe Hamilton’s apartment as minimalist, perhaps drop in a nice, neutral descriptor like ‘functional’.

Modest would probably be the best way to describe the apartment if he were being honest though. 

Bare would work too.

There’s an American flag hanging from the wall, handmade by the looks of it and worn, and another, smaller flag by the window and the alpha has to search his brain for a moment before he recognizes the Danish emblem. Furniture is limited to a few essentials, a single coffee table that looks like its seen better days and an old vinyl futon that’s pushed up against the far wall. There isn’t a television nor are there any photographs on display and the tarnished wooden floors are uncovered and scratched.

There is a bookshelf in the corner and Thomas searches eagerly through the titles for an ounce of insight into the other’s preferences and in the process his eyes catch on a corner of glossy paper wedged between two volumes on civil law, and curiosity has him tugging at it until an old image of a young woman is revealed.

Her hair is black and hangs around her soft oval face in beautiful dark waves that stop just above her shoulders. Her expression is carefully blank, but dimples adorn both cheeks and she looks kind despite the slight downturn of her mouth.

“Is this your mother?” Thomas asks and he lifts the photograph high enough so the other man can see. Hamilton, drying his hands absently on a kitchen towel as he finishes with the dishes, glances up at him and freezes.

The omega drops the towel onto the counter and quickly comes to stand at Thomas’s side. 

His fingers twitch a little, like he’s itching to reach out and the alpha relinquishes the photograph easily, takes note of the way Hamilton’s whole frame stills as his eyes scan the snapshot of his mother’s face.

“That’s her,” Hamilton confirms after a moment and the tone of his voice gives very little away on how he feels about that.

“You look just like her.” Thomas says. The long silky black hair is a giveaway, but the hunted look in her dark eyes is not unfamiliar either.

A strangely vacant look takes over Hamilton’s features. “Do I?”

Thomas cranes his neck so he can take another look at the photograph. “She’s very pretty.”

Beside him, Hamilton nods mechanically. “I suppose so.”

The omega swallows, looking as though the effort to do so pains him considerably and he deposits the photograph back onto the shelf where it came from, setting the glossy image on the few free inches of ledge available, heaving out a long sigh as though he has exhausted himself by just looking at it. 

“No pictures of your father?” Thomas asks unthinkingly, and then abruptly wishes he hadn’t when Hamilton flinches like he’s been shocked.

The other man’s hand falls limply to his side and he bites viciously into his lip.

“I have none.” Hamilton replies mildly enough, but it’s forced, and Thomas isn’t fooled. “Mom saw to that.”

Thomas considers dropping the subject, but there’s something disquieting about the way Hamilton phrases his words that Thomas can’t let go. “How do you mean?”

“It’s a long story,” The omega sniffs loudly and his nostrils curl as though he’s inhaled something unpleasant. “The gist of it though is that before my father came along, my mother was married to another man she cared very little for, but who had the means to satisfy her own mother’s wish for security. She left him eventually, but the marriage was never officially dissolved in the eyes of the law and when my father found out that the terms of their marriage were… illegitimate, he was out of our lives so swiftly and so thoroughly it was as though he had never been there to begin with.”

Thomas tries to catch the other’s hand in his own, tries to comfort him because just remembering seems to be causing the omega pain, but Hamilton drifts away, drawn to the window where he looks out into the streets of New York with his back to the alpha.

Thomas thinks of the woman in the photograph, her soft features, her guarded expression, and so young. “Your mother must have been devastated.”

Hamilton shrugs.

“Her grief was a secondary concern.” He says to the window, voice dull. “While she mourned the loss of a second husband, I was scrambling to catch up on an education that would no longer be so easily afforded. It may surprise you to hear as a man of the enlightenment, Thomas, but common people don’t place much stock in the betterment of a whore’s bastard child.”

Thomas cringes outwardly. “You’d refer to your mother and yourself so unkindly?”

The omega shrugs again and it’s far from a smooth movement. “I speak of the facts. Kindness is an irrelevant measure.”

“I think bitterness blinds you.” There’s a chiding tone that enters his voice and he regrets saying anything when he catches the spark of anger that lights up the omega’s eyes.

“I disagree.” Hamilton retorts sharply and his eyes meet Thomas’s over his shoulder. “I believe many of the disadvantages I was made to face were the product of my mother’s doing, and that is not bitterness speaking, Mr. Jefferson, that is simply what unpleasant truths sound like and if you’d like to join me in reality instead of clinging onto wild assumptions of a woman you know nothing about, I’d be most grateful because I grow tired of you acting like I’m the one resistant to reason.” 

The tone throws Thomas off and the alpha flinches back.

“Alex…” Thomas starts, but he’s saved from sticking his foot in his mouth again when the omega whirls around on Thomas and is suddenly right in his face. 

“You need me to present my case?“ He asks and his voice is little more than a hiss now, scathing where before it was listless. “I will, although it’s astounding that it would be necessary for me to do so, surely the rumors on my circumstances circulate so often around the office that they couldn’t have possibly slipped your memory.” 

And then Hamilton begins checking off fingers, like this is another cabinet meeting and he’s merely listing off talking points and not vilifying his own dead mother. 

“Bastard, orphan, what else?” Two fingers curl inward. “Son of whore, we already covered.” 

Another finger folds in along with the others and Hamilton let’s out a loud, humorless laugh. 

“Impoverished, that’s another one. That’s a _big_ one, wouldn’t you say?” 

He doesn’t like where this is going, doesn’t know how to redirect them from whatever they’re careening toward and Hamilton’s agitation only seems to grow the more he speaks.

Thomas sucks in a breath through his teeth. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have—” 

But Hamilton doesn’t stop to listen. If anything, he gains speed. “You wouldn’t know anything about growing up hungry, would you? ‘Cause _Momma_ took care of you. Rich in wealth, love, and affections, right?” The omega sneers and there’s judgment there, a mocking tone that stings. “You had _everything_. So don’t talk to me of bitterness. Your mother didn’t leave you in the middle of an ocean with no name, no money, and no family to speak of. She didn’t just drop dead one night while you were convulsing, out of your mind with fever beside her, leaving you with nothing. _Nothing_ , Thomas. Absolute fuck all.”

Hamilton’s chest is heaving and his body is trembling with his anger, and Thomas doesn’t know what to do, just knows that he fucked up, and that he was careless with the chance he’d been given and now it was likely that Hamilton wouldn’t want anything to do with him ever again.

He thinks he might be shaking as well, but it doesn’t matter. All he can do is apologize for the distress he’s caused and try to leave with as many pieces of himself as he can get away with.

He meets Hamilton’s eyes because the omega deserves that from him, but he struggles to get his voice much louder than a murmur. “You’re right. I assumed a great deal when I shouldn’t have spoken at all.”

The room is quiet except for the sound of their breathing and while Hamilton is still stone-faced, still riled, he’s listening. He watches Thomas intently, his jaw tight.

Thomas swallows slightly and says what he needs to. “You are the only person who can truly say how much of the love your mother had for you was felt, and I know nothing of that. I was… projecting my own issues, and I’m sorry for that.”

Incredibly, Hamilton’s expression softens at the admission, no longer quite as fierce.

The omega takes a step forward but Thomas is already withdrawing back. The alpha’s eyes go to his coat, still resting over the back of a chair in the kitchen, and he makes a move toward it.

“I should leave,” Thomas says. “I feel I have overstayed my welcome.”

But the omega crowds into his space again and Thomas prepares himself for more anger, braces himself for the shouting, but this Hamilton is pleading, his fury cooled, and the whiplash has Thomas reeling and his breath catches just a little in his throat.

“No,” Hamilton insists sharply and there’s a moment of hesitation before he touches the alpha, before his hands reach out and grip onto the fabric of Thomas’s shirt just above his shoulders. 

Keeping him still, keeping him there. “Ignore me. I haven’t slept— I’m just… cranky.” Hamilton's mouth is a pained line and his fingers clench in the fabric of Thomas's shirt. “I’m sorry, Thomas. Please don’t leave because of me.”

The alpha shifts out of Hamilton’s grasp and turns to go. “You don't have to be nice, Alex. I won’t linger if I’m not wanted.”

In typical fashion though, he doesn’t get very far as the omega scrambles to block his path.

“Do not presume to know my wants.” Hamilton snaps, but not unkindly.

Hamilton takes a breath. “But if you’d like to know, what I want right now is to take a nap.” 

Thomas doesn’t see but he feels the omega’s fingers curl around his own. “That sounds nice, right?”

The fingers squeeze. “Would you join me?” 

The hand tugs at his, insistent but gentle. “Please?”

Thomas knows his resolve is weak, his affections too strong.

He allows Hamilton to lead him back into the bedroom, and thinks he should be embarrassed or weary how eager he is to follow the omega wherever he wants to go.

Crawling up onto the bed, Hamilton flops against the pillows, squirming around over the sheets for a moment before opening his arms to the alpha. Indulgent, Thomas sinks into the mattress and turns onto his side so that they’re facing each other. They both lie there, breathing in and out in unison, until Hamilton closes the distance between them, a hand reaching out to idly pet through the alpha’s curls.

“I didn’t know of the rumors,” Thomas murmurs after a moment. Hamilton’s touch is soothing and a purr creeps into his voice. “When I brought up your family. I didn’t know.”

Hamilton’s fingers scratch lightly at this scalp and the pressure of his nails is delightful. “How could you not?”

Thomas arches up. “The only person I talk to beside you and the President is Madison, and the trivialities of your life have never made it into our discourse as of yet.”

“Oh.” Hamilton blinks and his touch falters for a moment before resuming. “I’m sorry I got defensive.”

“It’s okay.” Thomas forgives quickly, the tension draining from him as he luxuriates under the omega’s talented fingers. “I’m sorry that I made you feel like you were being mocked.”

They drop back into the quiet place they’ve perfected a long time ago and Thomas thinks that this is where he’ll drop off, Hamilton’s gentle touch lulling him to sleep.

“My mom tried to do right by me the best she could,” Hamilton says into the quiet.

There’s guilt in the way Hamilton’s breath hitches and Thomas doesn’t say that he understands out loud, but he does.

“Most mothers do.” He says instead and he nuzzles the side of his face into his pillow, releases a drawn out sigh. He thinks of a tiny woman in muddied boots with thick curls and round cheeks. He remembers a nose that looks like his own and the scent of cinnamon, licorice, and apple.

“I’m still learning to accept the parts of me that no one claps for.” Hamilton continues and his lips twitch downward.

Thomas doesn’t like how the frown darkens the omega’s face and the urge to reach out and coax the tension away is strong. “Maybe you should stop treating your past as though it is something that needs the approval of others.” 

Thomas allows his instincts to flare and his thumb finds its mark, absentmindedly caressing the other’s cheek. “If you can trade applause for acknowledgement then I think you will find that there are those who look upon your beginnings without the motive to critique but to simply understand.” 

There are dark smudges under Hamilton’s eyes, the other man perpetually in need of more sleep than he gets, and his thumb moves to trace the soft skin for a moment. “To see.”

The omega sniffs again and their foreheads slot together. 

Thomas drops his hands and breathes.

“Is that what happened?” Hamilton asks, uncertain. The other man, with a personality that is larger than life, somehow seems so small. “Did you see me just now?”

Another sigh slides out from between his lips. He’s suddenly so tired. “I did.”

Hamilton is watching him like he might disappear and Thomas can feel the fingers in his hair tighten. “And yet you’re still here.”

Hamilton smells of fresh air, of lemon and sugar. He reminds Thomas of summer, warm and brilliant and seemingly endless. “I’m here for as long as you’ll want me here.”

Thomas reaches out and reels Hamilton in, fills the space between them with limbs and hands and fingers. He eliminates the distance.

He doesn’t let go.

 

***

 

When Thomas wakes up to Hamilton watching an old British soap opera on his laptop hours later, the omega still burrowed into his chest, his soft hair tickling the alpha’s chin from where he’s tucked the side of his face into Thomas’s throat, the Southern can’t resist the initial compulsion to roll his eyes.

The omega must have gotten up at some point, miraculously slipping out of the alpha’s grasp to snag his laptop. The volume is low and from the corner of his eye Thomas can see the subtitles that sit near the lower half of the screen. He thinks he should feel somewhat slighted but the omega made an effort to be considerate and the length of his body is still pressed against the alpha’s, so he decides that grateful is the appropriate emotion.

“Alex.” He murmurs softly, not wanting to startle the other. He clears his throat. “Alex, I think I need to go home.”

Hamilton squirms a bit and burrows harder into the alpha’s chest, his nose tracing along Thomas’s throat as his head tilts upward. 

“Oh.” The omega breathes out and the disappointment in his voice is clear as day. “Really? I can turn this off if it’s bothering you.”

“No. It’s just—” Thomas stumbles and let’s his gaze stick to the ceiling. 

And then he groans, embarrassed. “It’s been awhile since my last dose.”

“Oh!” Hamilton exclaims beneath him and Thomas feels a hand slap against his chest and he jumps at the contact. “I’ll come with you then.”

Thomas tips his head down towards the other man, studies the lines of his face, and does a poor job at pretending he’s not relieved.

 

***

 

He thought he was okay with this, but he’s not okay. He’s pretty fucking far from okay.

They’re barely through the front door when Thomas tries to give Hamilton the slip.

“Just give me a minute.” He says, inching toward his bedroom, ignoring the way the omega is eyeing him suspiciously. “I’ll be right back.”

Not waiting for a reply, Thomas backs away and disappears into the en suite.

His hands are shaking as he tears open the medicine cabinet, nerves and regret washing over him as it sets in that this whole thing was a bad idea. He dry swallows his pills as soon as he physically can; stuffing the orange prescription bottle into a drawer before the omega can enter the bathroom after him.

“Got you this,” Hamilton says, holding out a glass of water he must have retrieved from the kitchen.

He tries valiantly to brush the feelings off, but the alpha can’t ignore the anxiety and embarrassment twisting around in his stomach. Thomas’s breathing shudders as he takes the glass and he can’t help but shrink under the omega’s searching eyes. He feels raw and uncomfortable suddenly and he’s fighting a part of himself that wants to tell Hamilton to go, to leave him now rather than later, to save him from the hurt. He takes a sip from the glass, drowning out words he doesn’t really mean. 

He sets the water down.

“Sorry,” he hears himself saying instead, as if from a great distance and there must still be room inside of him to fill that’s not already taken up by self-loathing and anxiety because surprise filters through at the look of sadness that washes over Hamilton’s face.

“Don’t be sorry.” Hamilton reaches out for him and it’s funny because all of this is new, the touching, the intimacy, but it’s natural for the omega to slide his fingers into his hair now and carefully tug him closer. “It’s not something you need to hide, you know that right? It doesn’t change anything.”

The admission seems to ease something inside him, like a band around his ribs has loosened by a few notches. Hamilton doesn’t ask him why he’s sad, doesn’t tell him that he’s making a choice to be this way, just strokes his hair and gives him a moment to gather himself. He’s about to pull away when Hamilton tucks an errant curl back behind his ear and smiles in this stupid way that has Thomas’s heart working twice as hard. 

“I feel like it bares repeating,” Hamilton murmurs coyly. “But I really like you.”

“Jesus,” Thomas whines and the blush that invades his cheeks his excruciatingly sincere and the heat is mortifying. “Can you not?”

“Not what?” Hamilton asks and it’s not entirely clear whether or not his cluelessness is an act.

Not be so perfect, Thomas thinks.

He doesn’t say that.

“Nothing.” He stalls and he buries his face into the smaller man’s shoulder because he won’t be made to display just how much the one comment has affected him. “You’re just very understanding when you make an effort, you know? I’m still getting used to it.”

Somewhere above him, Hamilton gives a little huff of laughter and his nails trail along the back of the alpha’s neck. “You inspire effort.”

 

***

 

They’re back in bed, the hug in the bathroom somehow carried over into a cuddle on top of the sheets. 

Hamilton sighs, a gusting breath that tickles against Thomas’s clavicle, and leans away just enough to be intelligible, his voice thick with a drowsiness that has claimed them both for a second time that day.

“I want to take you out tonight.”

Thomas still feels weak and lethargic, and even the very thought of getting up anytime in the near future seems extraordinarily unappealing. “We just spent the day together.”

The omega whines above him, shuffling against his chest in a frustratingly jarring way. “That was all your thing though, now it’s my turn.”

Thomas uses his arms to pull Hamilton back, willing the other man to still as he pins him down. “You know you don’t have to buy me dinner to get me to put out, right?”

Hamilton slaps a hand against his chest again like a fucking child and Thomas growls because this cannot become a habit. “Stop trying to wriggle out of it, Jefferson! I can’t have you spreading it around that I’m a passive date, all right? Or that we spent like half of the day napping.”

“Hmmm.” The alpha has little patience to argue the point. 

He caves. “If you must.”

Hamilton relaxes back into the alpha’s embrace, dipping his face into the curve of Thomas’s shoulder with a pleased sigh. “Don’t shave tonight okay? I like the scruff. Big fan of the scruff.”

“Wasn’t gonna.” Thomas’s jaw cracks around a yawn and beneath him the omega shifts around again, his arm slipping away from behind the alpha’s back to grasp at something on the nightstand. “Wanna sleep some more, stop moving.”

The omega laughs and settles but an odd clicking sound starts up a second later. “Good. Glad we’re on the same page.” He says and Thomas realizes Hamilton must be on his phone.

Thomas’s theory is confirmed when a screen is shoved near his face a moment after the clicking sound stops. “Look, already got us reservations for 7 o’clock on the dot at that place near work.”

Tilting his face away from the brightness, the alpha asks, “How much time does that give us?”

“45 minutes until we need to get up.” Hamilton says and he tosses the phone aside before squirming back over the alpha’s torso and snuffling into the hinge of his armpit, which can’t possibly smell anything but rank after so long without a shower, but seems to be acceptable enough for the omega. “I have an alarm set though, so relax.”

Thomas thinks he feels lips press against the line of his ribs, but he’s fading fast.

Sleep tugs and Thomas falls.

 

***

 

Their waitress looks like she would rather be anywhere on earth rather than standing beside Thomas as she takes his order. It’s hardly important though because across the table from him, Hamilton’s cheeks have taken on a rosy hue from the wine they’ve been sharing and there’s a strangely doting look in the omega’s eyes.

Hamilton’s foot bumps his beneath the table, hesitantly at first, like it’s an accident and then more firmly and with purpose. 

The waitress leaves in a hurry, but neither of them really cares.

“I hope the wine is up to your impossibly high standards.” Hamilton teases. “The owner owes me a favor, so feel free to indulge.”

“You do this for all your…” he’s not comfortable putting a label on what this is just yet, “… friends?” he settles on. “Or should I feel special?”

The curve of Hamilton’s mouth is particularly devastating. 

“Feel special,” the omega murmurs, grinning slyly.

“Sometimes I wonder if you mean half of what comes out of your mouth,” Thomas says, embarrassed but secretly pleased.

“I don’t lie to you, Thomas.” Hamilton says and his voice is even, but he looks as though he’s worried that he’s been misunderstood. “Is that a concern of yours?”

“No.” Thomas is quick to respond because it’s not. “I feel out of practice though. I want to understand you, but I’m not sure how to go about it.”

“Go on,” Hamilton encourages, relaxing. “What do you want to know?”

He’s not usually so shy, but there’s something intimidating about this, like he’s conducting an interview or setting the terms of a treaty between them, which if he thinks about it, really isn’t too far off from what’s happening. The day has been wonderful in so many ways and testing and revealing, but there are still bits of Hamilton that remain shrouded from view and with the warming courage of a few glasses of wine already helping him along, it's time to tease some of those answers out into the open.

“What do you want from your life?” He asks eventually.

“Besides the obvious.” He adds, when he notices the familiar glint in the omega’s eyes. “Put aside politics and your career and what’s the end game for you?” 

Thomas bites his lip and knows it’s far from an idle request. “Do you even know?”

There’s a small pause, the span of a heartbeat where Hamilton tilts his head the slightest bit, a considering look on his expressive face.

He doesn’t sound sure, but he does answer. “I’ve thought of finding someone”

“Like a partner?” Thomas probes.

The omega shrugs. “In the eyes of the law, sure.”

“To what end?”

“Money.” He admits plainly enough. “I’ve got so little of it, it must be nice to have some surely.”

“And that’s the sole qualifier to your search?”

“Of course not.” Hamilton asserts. “They’d also have to be pretty.” He flashes a grin. “But not too pretty that I have to worry about it.”

Thomas chuckles, the sound escaping him before he can think twice about it. “And what of their political opinions? Knowing you, it must be a factor.”

Hamilton’s fingertips tap against the table, his smile a sliver of warmth. “As to political opinions, it doesn’t matter what they are. I will convince them to mine.”

“You’re awfully confident of yourself.” Thomas chides. “Have you been looking?”

“No, not really.” The playful smile drops from the omega’s face. “I’ve grown used to my lack of means and I make do. I’m never going to actually need anyone in that way.” He picks at his nails nervously. “But I might want someone. And from time to time, I think about wanting someone.”

“Hmmm.” Thomas hums. “And what would you want from them?”

“Affection,” is the omega’s knee-jerk response. “Attention.”

Thomas tilts his head, considering. “And that would be enough?”

“Maybe not.” Hamilton admits. His lips twitch and he takes another sip of wine. “I can be difficult. I’d need some unafraid of a challenge.”

The blunt insight is appreciated.

“And what about you?” Hamilton asks, seizing on the opening.

“I have my eye on someone,” Thomas says, observing how Hamilton’s skin looks soft and golden in the amber light of the restaurant.

The omega quirks an eyebrow, “Do you?”

“Yes.” And now there’s laughter bubbling up inside of him but he still manages to keep mostly straight-faced. “He’s very pretty, but there are some concerns.”

“Oh?” Hamilton huffs, the mirth back in his dark eyes. “Pray tell?”

“He might be too pretty. I’d have to spend my days worrying whether or not some other suitable partner would come along and whisk him away.” Thomas gives an exaggerated sigh of dismay. “And then there’s the fact that he’s penniless

Hamilton tuts. “That’s no good.”

“No, it’s not ideal, but I suppose I could support both of us quite easily if it came to it.” Thomas responds quickly. “There’s one more thing though.”

“Don’t tell me,” Hamilton lays the dreading tone on a bit thick. “He’s not a federalist, is he?”

Thomas leans forward. “He is, but what I was going to say is that he’s kind of an asshole.”

Surprised, Hamilton spits wine into his napkin and leans down onto the table after a fretful, giggling swallow.

“Oh, that’s too bad. Guess your search will have to continue.” He chokes out when he can breathe again.

Thomas reaches across the table and touches the back of Hamilton’s hand with fingertips, and moves those fingers up to the omega’s slim wrist in an affectionate caress. “To be honest, I think I like that he’s an asshole,” he murmurs.

Hamilton flips his hand over and captures Thomas’s fingers with his own, still coughing slightly. “How fortunate for you then.” 

 

***

 

When it comes time to pay the bill, their waitress approaches the table a little uncertainly, glancing at Thomas as if she were half expecting him to lunge out and force her into submission right there on the restaurant floor, which is not only ridiculous but also grossly presumptive of Thomas’s tastes.

Hamilton must notice because he glances worriedly at Thomas who is still looking at the server a little amusedly, leaning his head against the palm of his hand as he glances up at her.

Thomas knows he should feel upset, knows that he should be quietly stewing and indignant because this is just another in a long line of close-minded twits who seem hell bent on forcing him into a presubscribed box. Instead he’s almost viciously satisfied and furiously pleased because he catches sight of her wrist and _of course_ she’s wearing a fucking claiming band. _Of fucking course_.

When she stops at the end of their table, Hamilton takes the check and tells her that he’ll only be a moment before he starts to hurriedly count bills from his wallet and he only appears to be half listening when Thomas speaks.

“Cute claiming band,” he says and lets his eyes linger on the adornment.

The matte red cuff that encircles the delicate bones of her wrist is somehow simultaneously pretentious and vulgar all at once, but he’s well practiced and the sneer that sits just under the surface curls instead into a bland smirk.

The waitress’s jaw tenses at the comment but she barely spares a glance in his direction.

“Your significant other must be a beta then? Or an omega like yourself?” Thomas prods and his voice drops conspiratorially, vindicated by her visible discomfort as he continues to speak. “Kind of hypocritical then, wearing that band, don’t you think?”

Hamilton’s hands still momentarily, his concentration seeming to falter as the alpha’s words register. The omega levels Thomas with a questioning look.

“Acting like you’re alphas or something.” Thomas snorts rudely, because he can, because he’s calm and his words are still his own and this is funny. It’s _hilarious_. 

“It’s painfully confusing actually,” he continues, “how you’ve obviously held onto your prejudices but managed to commoditize alpha mating rites into _that_.”

His nostrils curl and his face scrunches slightly and she’s looking at him now with something akin to stunned disbelief and there’s something dangerous about the thrill he gets from the small reaction and it feels like he’s purging the poison from his veins and this leaves him feeling unencumbered and emboldened. 

“Actually what it is, is moronic.” He amends and clicks his tongue, looking bored and laying the condescension on thick. “You wasted a month’s paycheck on a shit piece of plastic because you wanted to feel superior and edgy, but every alpha on the street that sees your silly status marker only feels embarrassment and pity for you because your simple mind could never comprehend the depth of a real bond and there’s something unbearably sad about your ignorance to that fact.”

He turns his gaze to his nails like they’re the most interesting things in the world and picks at one idly while he listens to the omega huff angrily. 

“But like I said,” he says offhandedly. “It’s cute.”

He can see that her hand is up and swinging through the space between them through his peripherals, and Thomas is prepared for impact because not only is the omega apparently tacky but predictable as well, but Hamilton moves like he was ready for this eventuality as well and his fingers snag on her wrist.

“You will restrain yourself,” Hamilton hisses through gritted teeth, his wallet left open and disregarded on the table. “Is that understood?”

Within seconds, Hamilton is out of his seat, hovering in front of Thomas like the extra barrier is a necessary precaution and the waitress nods a little uncertainly, flustered and still off-balanced by the whole thing.

“This is unacceptable.” The omega snarls. “Is this the kind of behavior we can expect in the summer when the President’s fundraiser gala is scheduled? Are you unable to keep your hands to yourself, ma’am?”

“Sir,” And her voice quivers slightly when she addresses Hamilton. “He provoked me.”

“You have a mouth and a brain, don’t you?” Hamilton snaps. “Did you think you’d get away with it because of his designation? That I’d watch you lay hands on him and would just let it slide?”

“He—” She tries again, but Hamilton is already talking over her.

“We’ll be withdrawing our reservations for that night in the morning. I’ll make sure to mention why the President can no longer patronize this venue for future events.”

A violent blush of red stains the server’s face and she makes to leave, but Hamilton moves again and this time to block her path.

“I am not finished.” He seethes and the venom takes Thomas by surprise. “Apologize.”

Their waitress blanches, but the demand only serves to turn her embarrassment into anger.

Her voice is nasal and pompous but it’s also just a shade off scandalized in a way that makes Thomas giddy despite the situation. “I will do no such thing.”

The affronted look that crosses Hamilton’s face in response is almost precious. “It wasn’t a suggestion.”

They’re causing a scene, other diners looking over their shoulders to watch as Hamilton’s outrage grows, and Thomas senses that the need to deescalate is rapidly approaching while things are still relatively civil.

“Stop.” He’s up and out of his seat. 

He places a calming hand on Hamilton’s shoulder. 

He tugs him back. “That won’t be necessary.” 

Hamilton bristles initially, coiled as tightly as he is, but he backs down and levels Thomas with a look of confusion.

“Pay the bill, Alexander.” Thomas says as evenly as he is able and then tacks on a pleading “please.”

Hamilton’s eyes narrow but he does what is asked of him and finishes removing the necessary amount from his wallet into the booklet. The omega makes to leave, his fingers curling into Thomas’s coat sleeve as though to pull him along, but the alpha reaches for the check and scans the receipt and does a quick count of what Hamilton had placed down.

“You didn’t add tip.” He notes and Hamilton scowls.

“She doesn’t get one.”

Now that won’t do.

He swings his body around to face the still fuming omega woman and he gives himself a moment to take in the red fury of her expression, find enjoyment in it, before flitting his gaze off to the side casually.

His tone is dismissive when he addresses her and suddenly it is abundantly apparent how Hamilton had mistaken his lack of eye contact for hubris back at that first cabinet meeting and he ponders on how he never realized that he doesn’t have to be demure to get by anymore, he can play the game, and he can play it better than anyone else. 

He feels powerful in a way he hasn’t felt but for a handful of times in his life.

He’s unaffected and he’s above this.

She is no one to him. 

She doesn’t get to have his eyes.

She’s beneath that.

“You table service wasn’t terrible, I guess.” He slips his own wallet out of his coat pocket and thumbs through the cash. 

He thinks briefly of tossing the small stack of bills onto the floor between them, but decency has him placing the amount on the table with an absentminded flick of his wrist. “Ten percent will have to do, you’ll have to understand that I’m not feeling particularly generous at the moment.”

He turns back to Hamilton who is looking at him like he’s grown a second head and says, “I think I’m ready to go now.”

He pastes on a sweet smile, ever the actor, and lets his voice go all low and purring. “You know there’s a nice wine bar on 7th that could accommodate the President’s fundraiser just as well…”

The alpha leads them away from the dining hall on a high, but the pleasure is short-lived because as soon as they’re out in the street Hamilton seems to shake himself from his stupor and the agitation comes back with a vengeance.

“What the fuck was that?” Hamilton shrieks, whirling around on him. “Did you seriously just tip her, Thomas?”

“I’m not petty.” Thomas says with a haughty lift of the chin even as he’s pulling his coat tight, a gust of wind blowing past them. “She provided a service. That’s more than some do.”

“That’s not the point!” The omega fumes. His face is still flushed, darker than before, and Thomas isn’t sure what to blame for that. The wine they had sipped on earlier in the evening, the fury that had taken hold of his senses in the restaurant, or the cold city air they’re standing in now.

“You were—” Hamilton stumbles with his words and now Thomas sees the pattern, knows that Hamilton is emotional to the point of distraction. “If I were you I wouldn’t have been so nice.”

“Thank god you’re not me then.” The alpha bites out. “And what I did back there wasn’t _nice_.”

Hamilton snorts and throws his hands up. “Well, it wasn’t nearly enough!”

“I don’t get to be an asshole to every bigoted fuck-stick I come across, Alexander.” Thomas spits because if the omega is raging for a fight, he’ll provide it. “There are stakes for me.”

“Let me be an asshole about it then. Because that,” Hamilton jabs a finger back in the direction of the restaurant, “that sucked. Fuck that and fuck that lady for thinking she could touch you like that, like I wouldn’t do anything.”

Before Thomas can decide which part of that to react to, his mouth takes the choice away from him and he’s ranting now, lacking even the notion of composure as he snarls like an angry pitbull at Hamilton— sweet, stupid, infuriating man that he is.

“You going to take care of me, Alex? Is that it?” He’s hissing, getting into the omega’s face like it’ll be enough to get the other man to back down from this ridiculous precipice that they’ve found themselves on. “Because this is every day for me. This is my life. I don’t get to be upset.”

He shoves Hamilton back, and he shoves him _hard_ , and he spits, “You think you can handle that?”

The omega stumbles a few steps, but he rights himself and he’s stalking forward until he’s right back in Thomas’s space, and Hamilton, always in action, a creature of movement, stills and looks him dead in the eye.

“It would be my _pleasure_.” Hamilton grinds out, and the way he says it, all arrogance and biting, makes it sound like a dare.

It’s in this moment of perfect clarity that Thomas closes the distance between them, hands darting to the sides of Hamilton’s face, and they come together in a desperate clash of lips and teeth, scrambling to touch whatever part of the other they can reach. One of Thomas’s hands slides to the back of Hamilton’s neck, and the omega opens underneath his mouth, clings to his coat and reels him in as close as their bodies will allow.

The world is quiet, or so it seems to Thomas. There’s still noise, the pounding of a heart, the slide of lips on lips, the clack of teeth, the little gasps. But Thomas’s world has gone quiet.

His rational mind takes its leave.

 

***

 

The front door slams behind them and the last of the carefully constructed control he’s crafted for himself is crumbling into pieces at their feet and all that is left is the roiling need that bubbles up his throat and itches across skin like an illness, heat spiking in his chest, the pressure in his groin painfully tight.

Thomas takes Hamilton’s needy fingers in his coat as invitation to lean forward and drag his tongue across the underside of the other man’s jaw, eliciting something like a jagged gasp from the omega, and takes that as an invitation to flick open the button of his pants, crowding him away from the door.

His hand splays across the curve of the omega’s hip, and they sway back against the wall with a decided _thunk_. 

“Been waiting,” the omega whines. His voice sounds hoarse, drawn thin and unrefined. “Been waiting for you to fucking _do_ something all day, Thomas.”

They tear at one another’s clothes, Thomas curling an arm around Hamilton’s waist and lifting him easily against the wall, his fingers tugging Hamilton’s pants and underwear impatiently out from under him. He has the omega naked from the waist down before he’s thrusting his thigh crudely between Hamilton’s legs, and the crown of Hamilton’s head taps lightly against the wall as he arches into the friction, a long stuttering moan tearing away from his throat as he rubs bare and desperate against the alpha’s pant leg. Pre-cum leaks onto the fabric as well as something else that has Thomas reaching down in a frantic search between the omega’s legs, circling the omega’s entrance with a single, searching finger just to hear the sounds of surrender that flow from Hamilton’s lips before dipping inside, rubbing against the hot, eager muscles that clench deliciously around him.

Hamilton mewls loudly and pushes into the pressure. “ _Thomas_.”

He doesn’t mean to tease, but Thomas takes his time, he likes this part too much and by the time he pulls his hand away his fingers are dripping wet with slick and he lifts his hand to his mouth and laps at the juices, the fog of arousal thick and heady as the taste of the omega floods his senses.

But Hamilton doesn’t like being forgotten for long and he’s tugging Thomas’s hand away from his lips and surges forward to chase the flavor of his slick with a probing tongue that licks hot and wet into Thomas’s mouth. Thomas indulges the omega and works their mouths together in a harsh, demanding kiss before he’s dragging himself away to pant against Hamilton’s throat, giving into the impulse to scrape his canines carefully across the vulnerable flesh, mark him in teeth just enough so that the skin turns cherry red when he’s through.

“Up,” Thomas growls and it’s just short of an order.

The omega gives a small hop up and Thomas is hoisting him the rest of the way, hands clawed into the meat of Hamilton’s ass as he pulls him up the slope of the his thigh, until Hamilton’s legs come to hook tightly around his waist. Breathless and urgent, Hamilton hisses as his hard cock drags roughly over Thomas’s stomach, already sheened in sweat, and he squirms wildly at the stimulation. 

Thomas reaches out, flicking free the buttons of Hamilton’s dress shirt, shoving the fabric aside while Hamilton rubs against him, giving gorgeous little jerks of his hips, and Thomas thinks that sort of enthusiasm should be rewarded and he thrusts upward, his clothed erection dragging over the other’s crotch.

“You want this?” Thomas growls roughly and he fumbles for a moment, reaching down with the hand not clutching at Hamilton so that he can let his cock free, red and weeping at the tip.

“I want _you_ ,” Hamilton snaps, and his pupils are blown wide, his voice tattered and thick, but his eyes bore into Thomas’s, searing and possessive, and the alpha doesn’t need any further incentive, and is pressing into him without missing a beat.

Thomas jackknives his hips in deep enough where Hamilton’s eyes widen into saucers, glazed over and lost, and there isn’t time for slow anymore, there’s only tight, clinging heat and sweet, little punched-out gasps that leave the omega’s mouth in that quick staccato of breath as he bucks his hips forward in a punishing pace. His skin feels supercharged, every sensation magnified, and Thomas keens at the feel of Hamilton’s arms around his shoulders as the omega tries to hold on and groans loudly at the feel of nails scraping against his back.

Hamilton’s breath speeds up, faster, faster, breaking over a whine and Thomas pushes forward even deeper, gets that last little bit in so he can stretch a little more and reach up for the omega’s mouth.

He has Hamilton nailed against the wall and there’s something about the rough handling which just makes Hamilton open up and peel apart. His mouth is slack, his lips parted and bruised, and it’s like he can barely keep his eyes open in the face of so much pleasure, his brow furrowed as he whines desperately.

Thomas wishes that he could look away, he really does. The sight is going to make him come too soon and already his lungs feel tight, like they aren’t working right. He feels dizzy.

“Fuck.” Hamilton moans, his voice high and reedy, and then he practically sobs and thrashes as Thomas’s cock slams against his prostate. “Thomas, yes. _Yes_!”

And the alpha croons at the omega’s submission, at the way Hamilton is pliant and open but also demanding, and all too soon Thomas is squeezing his eyes shut as the orgasm tears through him, juddering down to the bones, and Hamilton’s shouts fill his ears and the scent of his release fills his nose.

Everything burns away.

 

***

 

“Tell me.”

A warm body lays flush against the length of his back, fingerprints pressing into the softest parts of him in an easy kind of way that he’s missed desperately.

Thomas sighs blissfully and recites, “The ideal alpha has no appetite.” 

A hand traces along the edge of his hips encouragingly. 

A groan slips out. “This is not to say that we refuse food, sex, romance, or emotional effort when it is on offer, because to refuse is petulant, which is ironically more demanding.”

There are teasing touches at the base of his cock, more explorative than purposeful, and Thomas squirms despite himself, still sensitive. “The alpha without appetite politely finishes the plate they are given and always declines seconds. They are satisfied and satisfiable.”

“It is impressive.” Hamilton interrupts and the arm still slung across Thomas’s chest tightens. “How they taught you to lie to yourselves.”

Thomas makes a melodramatic tutting noise and presses his lips to the omega’s bicep.

“Listen now, sweet thing, or you might miss something important.” He speaks into the brace of Hamilton’s arm, lets the edge of his teeth graze against the golden skin. 

“The secret to satiation,” he laves the closest patch with his tongue, likes the taste of salt in his mouth, “to satisfaction,” he imparts one final kiss, “is not to meet or acknowledge your needs, but to curtail them. Our physical, sexual, and emotional hungers can all be tamed and made manageable very simply.” 

From behind his ear, Hamilton huffs out a small laugh, unconvinced. “Share with the class?”

The words were drilled into him so long ago, and they’re a part of him, might always be, and so it’s all too easy to recall them now and let them loose into the air. “Want less and you will always have enough.”

He’s met with another snort of laughter.

“Oh, sweetheart. No.” He can feel Hamilton’s smile against the nape of his neck, and it’s absurd, how Thomas is so charmed by the teasing sound of his voice.

They shift, Hamilton rolls away, takes the heat of his skin, and Thomas follows. Limbs are rearranged and Hamilton pulls the alpha on top of him, and the look in his eyes has Thomas’s belly clenching in need. 

The omega watches him from beneath his lashes, the very picture of temptation, of sin. “You can always ask for more. You can have _more_.”

Thomas melts.

“You have to indulge your appetites or they will consume you.” Hamilton says, and Thomas thinks that the omega must know all too well of what it’s like to be hungry, even now as he hums happily while the alpha’s lips trace along his jaw, sucking wet, adoring kisses into his skin. “Wait too long to eat and you enslave yourself to your hunger even when you refuse to take a bite—”

Thomas breathes raggedly into Hamilton’s mouth and silences him with a kiss, his whole body starving, lapping up every stuttering gasp, every needy whine. He wants to taste each of them on his lips, lick them out of his mouth, and feel the way they rumble in his throat. 

He wants it all.

When he moves away, Hamilton’s eyes are bright, almost dazed, and beyond pleased. 

His mouth comes to hover over smooth skin and his teeth sink into the meat of the omega’s shoulder and Hamilton cries out so prettily, arches into him with every inch that he has to give, hungry, so hungry for something, anything.

Hamilton’s mouth seeks his own and for a moment there is something sweet and soft between them, something gentle, almost fragile.

But neither of them is fragile and the desire for something more fulfilling only grows.

When Hamilton’s lips leave his, they migrate to his neck, to the thick-corded muscle at the base of his collar.

Thomas wants and wants and _wants_.

Hamilton takes a bite.

**Author's Note:**

> This has undergone so many changes along the way and was so utterly frustrating to write lol.
> 
> Themes inspired by Jess Zimmerman’s essay _Hunger Makes Me_.


End file.
